


Activation Energy

by niðavellir (KingPreussen)



Series: Biophysics, Relationships, and Other Inscrutable Sciences [4]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Attempted robbery, Canon-Typical Violence, Depression, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-20 16:28:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17026137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KingPreussen/pseuds/ni%C3%B0avellir
Summary: A few minutes later, crying jag fading into the occasional sniffle, Peter heard something odd outside the front door. Living in a studio meant there was only one door between the bed and outside the apartment, so the sound wasn't muffled at all. In fact, the clicks and scrapes signaled someone taking a screwdriver to their lock.---Idiot burglar interrupts self-pity session.





	Activation Energy

**Author's Note:**

> [based on this video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z46CpbbUhns)

Peter felt his stomach sink as soon as he woke up, movement from behind him rousing him from a fitful sleep. The afternoon-lit apartment was still for a moment, and then Wade leaned over, brushing hair away from Peter's forehead to kiss his temple. "Getting us breakfast," he said, soft and reassuring.

Well, it would have been reassuring. Peter nodded and buried his face in his pillow, turning away from Wade's kindness. He had practically been living for two while depression turned Peter's mind to static. When Wade got in the shower, he would bring Peter with him, standing him under the spray and scrubbing him top to bottom while singing whatever pop hit came to mind that day. They mostly ate fast food, since Wade had no concept of cooking other than pancakes, but no matter the restaurant of choice Wade always remembered Peter's favorites.

Even the initial call to Peter's PI the Monday before was orchestrated by Wade. As soon as he saw Peter still in bed, not red or feverish but generally listless at 10 am, Wade called the lab and explained as politely as possible that Peter would need personal time off. Of course that lead to Stark calling him back within minutes, but Wade also handled that with aplomb, only swearing a few times and in an inside-voice. 

Peter got the opportunity to wallow while keeping his teeth brushed and sheets changed and, honestly, being taken care of just made him feel sicker. Wade, who might as well have had "MY LOVE LANGUAGE IS ALL OF THEM" tattooed on his forehead, treated him like a prince for absolutely no reason. And the worst part was, he wouldn't accept any arguments, no matter how well-reasoned.

Wade circled the bed in just a few minutes, crouching beside Peter to kiss him again, this time on the tip of his nose. "Bringing some sweets for my sweetie. You can go back to sleep, baby boy."

"I love you," was all Peter could manage, but Wade still lit up like the sun to hear it.

He dramatically clenched his hand in the front of his hoodie. "How did I get the most adorable little bug for myself?"

Peter scrunched his nose a bit. "Not a bug."

"Bitty bug." Wade reached over to the headboard and grabbed a Yankees snapback off the post, putting it on. "Brb, Spidey. Don't get into any trouble while I'm gone!"

Despite his general cheerfulness today, Peter's heart sank into his already churning stomach when Wade made sure to pull up his hood and put on gloves before heading outside. Peter wanted to be there with him, to get in the face of anyone who dared do anything but _smile_ at his boyfriend. The thought of someone being mean to Wade, who of all people could hold his own in the face of a dirty look, made Peter cry for the first--and most likely not last--time that day.

A few minutes later, crying jag fading into the occasional sniffle, Peter heard something odd outside the front door. Living in a studio meant there was only one door between the bed and outside the apartment, so the sound wasn't muffled at all. In fact, the clicks and scrapes signaled someone taking a screwdriver to their lock.

Peter sighed. Whoever had cased their apartment--admittedly, in a working class neighborhood that thankfully had apartments mostly too small for families--only watched them for a few days. Wade leaving must have given them some signal to go forward with their plan without realizing Peter was still inside.

He let the amateur scraping and knocking go on for another fifteen seconds before hauling himself out of bed and pulling on a pair of Wade's sweatpants draped over the back of the couch. A cursory glance in the peephole revealed what he expected: a man crouched in front of his door, very loudly attempting to pick it.

Now Peter was more pissed off than resigned. He unlocked the deadbolt, and then opened the door. Then he reached out and, more violently than he intended, grabbed the man by the back of his tee shirt and threw him to the floor in the hallway, earning a satisfying breathless screech. "What the fuck are you doing?" he rasped, throat sore from not speaking so loudly for a long time.

Would-be-robber, expression somewhere between fear and disbelief, started to ramble. "Dude, I wasn't doing anything! I promise!" he insisted. Peter paused for a split second, confused, and the man repeated, "Dude, I wasn't doing anything, _I promise_!"

"You were trying to break into my house," Peter said, like he was explaining it to a five-year-old.

"Dude, I wasn't!" the man hysterically continued to deny. He was a petty criminal, at best, so Peter didn't want to rough him up too much, but he gave him a quick and hopefully mind-clearing slap to the side of his head. Peter felt laughter tugging at him for the first time in days when the man, increasingly upset and in varying tones, just kept repeating "dude, I _wasn't_!!"

The jingle of keys at the other end of the hall made Peter glance up. Wade stood just outside the elevator, holding a paper bag that was hopefully full of breakfast sandwiches in his hand, looking as confused as Peter felt.

The idiot robber looked over at him as well from his position on the floor and said, pleading, "I was tryna fuckin' figure out how to get in my door, cause my door is fucked up, and I was tryna fuckin' have another door to do it on!"

Wade took a few steps in Peter's direction, handed him the satisfyingly full paper bag, and took his place holding the man by his tee shirt on the floor. Unfortunately he wasn't as merciful as Peter and delivered another slap upside the man's head. "So you were trying to break into our house?" he asked with a grin.

"Please dude, I swear to god! Dude, I was not tryna break into your house! Did you hear me, dude!?" Wade popped him again. "Dude, my door is fucked up, 'member!? I was tryna get another door, so I could see how I could do it, man! I swear to god! Why the fuck would I break into your house!?"

Another slap, and then Wade let the man up, where he immediately backed into the opposite wall and sat with his hands on his head. Peter was laughing so hard his lungs hurt, leaning against their doorway. "You didn't know he was fuckin' home, did you?" Wade asked with a grin, hitting the man much harder on the other side of his head. Peter wanted to feel bad, he really did, but the man just kept repeating his stupid lie over and over again and seemed that close to bursting into childish tears.

"Get the fuck up," Wade said, grabbing the man by his shirt again and hauling him to his feet, giving him another slap for good measure.

"Dude, stop!" the man pleaded, ducking his head and backing away. "Do you hear me? 'Member I called you the other day about Bella? Dude, remember I called you about Bella?"

Peter certainly did not remember, and apparently neither did Wade. "Get the fuck out of here before I knock you out," was all Wade said to that, picking up the man's forgotten screwdriver and handing it to Peter as well.

"Are you serious? Dude," the man said, presumably a parting shot, and ran to the door leading to the stairwell, slamming it shut behind him.

Full on wheezing at his point, Peter stumbled back into their apartment holding his stomach. "Wade I'm dying," he said, laying backward across the couch.

"Dude… 'member he called us about Bella?" Wade asked, setting Peter off again.

Five minutes later Wade was sitting across Peter's lap, feeding him pieces of sandwich while they hate-watched Transformers. Peter was starting to feel low again but he could almost sense Wade's devotion propping his emotions up. He sighed and shifted closer, resting his head on Wade's shoulder.

Wade shifted in response. "It was nice to see you smiling," he said quietly, almost to himself. Peter nodded in response. "Also nice he wasn't breaking into our house." The next bite of food Wade was attempting to feed him almost went down Peter's windpipe.


End file.
